


'Twas the Night Before Fugue Feast

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Fugue Feast Shenanigans, Gen, Warning for hallucinogenic mushrooms, if Anton Sokolov offers you mushrooms it's probably a bad idea to actually take them, secret santa gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whiskey and cigars are outlawed, the city watch goes on strike to protest. A comedy of bad rhymes and pink lizards, with a happy ending for one and all (but especially Slackjaw).</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Twas the Night Before Fugue Feast

**Author's Note:**

> Secret santa gift for [Ragowski](http://www.ragowski.tumblr.com/) , over on tumblr.

 

_'Twas the night before Fugue Feast, and all through the streets_

_hung banners and lanterns; the shops filled with treats._

_The people of Dunwall retired with good cheer,_

_and patiently 'waited the best day of the year;_

_The Overseers welcomed release from their vows_

_and dreamed of the morrow, when they'd drink and carouse;_

_And the Watch in their uniforms, longing for bed,_

_lined up for Turnbull, and the General said:_

_"Each year during Fugue Feast, the city goes mad,_

_people drunk and debauched, and some aren't even clad;_

_None of them think of the mess they will leave,_

_the corpses to bury, the crimes to reprieve;_

_Well I've had enough, and I've thought up a plan:_

_To lighten our workload, I'm instituting a ban!"_

 

"Look you lot, I'm bloody sick of spending months dealing with the aftermath of a single day without the rule of law which keeps our society stable. I'm tired of rushing to indentify bodies when all their relations are too hung over to give proper testimony, and if I have to cope with one more still-drunk widow sobbing all over my coat there will be trouble."

 

The General scowled at his troops, his eyes flicking to every missing button, unpolished boot and crooked helmet. Sloppy, the lot of them. An unfortunate combination of the usual Fugue Feast anticipation, and the festive air lent by the new Sokolov/Joplin plague cure. A great many people had gone too long without any kind of joy to their lives, and this year's Feast was shaping up to be one for the record books. No doubt his men had plans for their day. Visiting the city's cheaper brothels, pubs, and the dealers of unidentified herbs and powders that never failed to do a roaring trade, no doubt.

 

Too damn bad.

 

"There is nothing you can do during the Fugue Feast that you couldn't otherwise do on your days off, since I know none of you would disgrace the Watch by committing petty theft, or indulging in a bit of grievance-settling. I'm right, aren't I?" The answering _yes, sir_ was a lot less enthusiastic than he'd have liked, but beggars couldn't be choosers. "So this year I'm resorting to drastic measures in the hopes that it'll cut down on the number of headaches I and my fellow Generals need suffer in the following days. From now until the Fugue Fires are extinguished, I am outlawing the use of any form of liquor and tobacco product by Guardsmen. And in case any of you were wondering, yes, that does in fact mean whiskey and cigars are banned. _Prohibited_. _Not allowed_. Have I made myself unclear in any way?"

 

He hadn't expected the news to go down well, and it didn't. Rumblings of discord spread through the gathered guards; off to the side he could see Captain Curnow's worried frown. He'd cautioned that a ban of this kind might spark rebellion, and left unchecked it might have done- but Turnbull was no green recruit.

 

"Quiet," he barked, and the rumbling subsided a bit. "Now I'm not ordering you to give up your Fugue Feast celebrations entirely. I am not a cruel man, and you've more than earnt the holiday. We all have. But my aim is to ensure that you Guardsmen remain sober and alert, wherever you go, and I will be relying on you to dissuade some of the more...extreme acts certain citizens may have planned. It'll mean less work for everyone in the long run. I know I can rely on you all to do your duty to the city, and the Empress. Dismissed."

 

"I don't think your plan is going to work, General," Curnow said as the men filed out. He pitched his voice low but made no effort to hide his reproach. "They look forward to this all year, we can't expect them to distance themselves from the festivities when all their friends are partaking. It just isn't realistic."

 

"We can't afford the usual mess of revenge-killings, Geoff." This close to Fugue Feast, he deemed it acceptable to loosen up on a few formalities here and there. Curnow made no complaint. "The plague's cured, to be sure, but you know as well as I what it did to the population. We've labour shortages in every sector and no business can afford to give its employees time off if they get themselves maimed in duels. This year we need the Feast to be as subdued as possible. I've asked the same of my soldiers, and I expect them to understand the reasoning behind it."

 

Curnow sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're right, of course, or I'd have argued it further. Still, I can't help but feel it's all going to go very badly. Everything does these days."

 

"You're probably right." The last few Guardsmen trickled out of the room, grumbling in groups as if they actually believed he wouldn't notice. The soldiers had been much the same when he'd informed them of the ban. "Especially given that I couldn't convince the new High Overseer to join his cause with ours for the good of the city. You'd think I'd asked him for a ritual sacrifice of his firstborn, the way he looked at me." The General turned back to the city maps pinned to the wall, the charts and diagrams of areas he expected to host the worst of the revelry. "But our men are loyal, and I have faith in their ability to keep the peace."

 

It didn't even sound convincing to his own ears. Curnow clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically. "Happy Fugue Feast, Turnbull. I expect it'll be as memorable as it always is."

 

"Outsider's eyes, I hope you're mistaken, though I fear you are not." The maps did little to ease his sense of inevitable disaster; he turned his back on them firmly. "And this close to the Feast I would not take offence if you were to call me Benjamin. I expect we'll be cooperating extensively over the next few days."

 

_Hopeful that they had averted a slaughter,_

_the two men shared a toast with a glass each of water;_

_But meanwhile in the barracks great trouble was brewing,_

_as the Guardsmen made plans, their orders eschewing;_

_"The General's batshit if he thinks this'll work,_

_and I ain't walking patrols while the Overseers smirk."_

_So muttered a Guardsman, his cheeks flushed all red,_

_while around him his colleagues each nodded their heads;_

_"He should've known better!" "It just isn't fair!"_

_"The Fugue Feast is something we wait for all year!"_

_Disobedience they planned, their trust placed in luck,_

_When the tragic news reached them: disaster had struck!_

 

"They've locked up the supply warehouse," Simmons shouted, barging into Barracks block A. "There's a sign posted on the door, it says we'll be receiving our usual luxury rations the day after Fugue Feast, and any complains should be directed to General Turnbull! And I asked around, it looks like we'll only be getting half pay this evening, and the rest after the Feast! He's gone mad!"

 

"Pipe down, Simmons, you want the General to hear? Knowing our luck he'll be right outside as we speak." Officer Thorpe pushed him towards one of the bunk beds, sticking his head out the door to check for eavesdroppers. He closed it firmly behind him. "Now what's all this about half pay, then?"

 

Simmons perched on the edge of the bunk bed, chewing his lip. "I don't know too much more, it's just a rumour I heard. They'll only be putting half pay in our lockers tonight, so we won't just go and buy our whiskey out on the streets. It'll barely be enough for an hour with a Golden Cat girl as it is!"

 

The news was met with loud exclamations of disgust; several of their fellows went to inform the Guardsmen in other blocks. The rest stood around in groups and tried to find alternatives to the miserable situation. Perhaps if they all pooled their coin and set their sights a bit lower than the Golden Cat? Was anyone especially skilled at Nancy, maybe they could win a bit of extra funding for the group to share?

 

Thorpe folded his arms, leaning on the bunk next to Simmons. "It just ain't right," he muttered; the other man nodded miserably. "Reckon the General's made his mind up, and that's that. Not much we can do."

 

"After the year we've had, you'd think he'd know better than to cancel the celebration, is all," Thorpe said. "Wonder if there's anyone we know who can talk him around. The Lord Protector owes me a favour; I almost wound up dead for helping him escape Coldridge Prison. He did say I could call on him any time, when he had them pardon me." He sighed. "But I expect he approves of the ban. He seems the type."

 

"I, uh, I might have an idea." They both turned to look at Grayson, who twitched under the scrutiny. "I might be wrong, so don't think it's a definite solution-"

 

"Out with it, Grayson," Thorpe said impatiently. "We'll take anything at this point."

 

"Right, yeah. It's just, back when I was stationed at the Kaldwin's Bridge laboratory the guards all used to say that Sokolov had the best cellar in Dunwall, and he didn't mind sharing it either. If you asked him right. I'm not so sure he'll remember me, all I did was help out with bringing him test subjects, but it has to be worth a try."

 

"He might take pity on us," Simmons agreed. "If we explain the situation properly."

 

Thorpe glanced out the barracks window at the sun's position. They had maybe an hour of light left, but Anton Sokolov didn't have a reputation for retiring early. An evening visit might not go amiss- and they were getting desperate. "Can't hurt to go see him," he said grudgingly, nodding to Grayson. "We'll grab Blossom on the way out, he's used to dealing with toffs. But don't tell the others just yet. Don't want to get their hopes up if it all leads to nothing."

 

They snuck out a side door unnoticed.

 

_Now Simmons was known for his kindness to others:_

_he treated all people as he would treat his brothers;_

_Grayson, meanwhile, had an overactive mind,_

_to illogical orders he couldn't make himself blind;_

_Thorpe was more wary, he'd stared death in the face:_

_Coldridge Prison was almost his last resting place;_

_And for his fussy nature Blossom was often noted:_

_to crisp-cooked tomatoes he was quite devoted;_

_Together these four made an unlikely team,_

_but their eyes were all set on one single shared dream;_

_They would bring back the joy of their yearly Fugue Feast,_

_(or a crate of Old Dunwall, at the very least)_

"You do it, Blossom," Simmons said as they stood outside the door to Sokolov's Kaldwin Bridge laboratory, none of them willing to knock. "You're the one who spent all that time guarding Barrister Timsh before he was arrested, you'll handle this better than us."

 

"Well, yeah, but I got demoted, remember? 'Cause the General thought I'd been helping Timsh hide his Weeper infestation. Funny business that, and they found the house clean of infection too! Not that it got me my position back..." Blossom grumbled himself into silence, and eventually Thorpe lost patience.

 

"Damn cowards, the lot of you. I'll do it myself." He stepped up to the doorbell and rang it sharply. From somewhere up above there came a series of loud crashes, followed by a muffled shout that might have been, "Yes, just a moment!" and what sounded like someone tripping on their way down a flight of stairs. Simmons exchanged worried looks with Grayson; Thorpe pretended not to see. They had a mission to fulfil. The other Guardsmen were counting on their success, and it made a better alternative to rioting.

 

Something went _thump_ on the other side of the door. A man opened it part way and paused, blinking nervously at them over his round glasses. "Oh," he said. "Oh dear, this doesn't look good. _Anton_!" He turned away to shout over his shoulder. "Anton, the Watch is here, what have you done this time?"

 

"Must you always be so suspicious, Piero? As I have told you before, you are privy to any and all experiments that might result in one or both of us spending the night in a Coldridge prison cell. If the Watch want a word, it's nothing to do with me." A second man appeared, nudging the first aside with his shoulder and shoving the door open wide. He folded his arms and gave a most fierce glare. "What do you lot want? We haven't set anything on fire for weeks, and I should warn you that the Empress promised us a measure of freedom with our experiments, following the _successful plague cure_ we made her. If you're here to arrest us, you can damn well leave. Your presence is upsetting my colleague."

 

"I don't think it's unreasonable to be _concerned_ , given that the Watch besieged us for several days at the Hound Pits Pub," Piero argued. He made no move to step out from behind his companion however, and settled for adjusting his glasses and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

 

Thorpe cleared his throat. "Nah, it's not an arrest, sir. Sirs. Look, are you that Anton Sokolov fellow?"

 

"I am." Sokolov drew himself up, beard bristling. "And loyal to her Imperial Majesty, Emily Kaldwin. What can I do for you? I assume you had more in mind than simply wasting our time? It's awfully late for social calls and some of us have preparations to make for Fugue Feast. The experiments won't mind themselves, you know."

 

Blossom stepped forward, sweeping a low bow and aiming a kick at Thorpe's leg as he did so. "Sorry to disturb you, sirs, I know you're both very busy men with important things to do. Unfortunately we're in a desperate situation, and the only thing we could do was come to beg for your assistance."

 

"I am _not_ hiding any bodies," Sokolov said testily. "It'll be Fugue in several hours anyway, just tuck it out of sight for a bit and then shove it in the Wrenhaven where the rest will end up. There, I've solved your problem for you. I charge at a rate of-"

 

"They've taken the whiskey!" Simmons interrupted. "And the cigars as well, not to mention half our pay! The General wants to avoid too much havoc this year, but it just seems so..."

 

"Unfair," agreed Grayson. "And all the men stationed at the Bridge used to say you knew where to get the good stuff, sir. We just want something to make the Fugue Feast more enjoyable."

 

"A charity case, is it?" Sokolov stroked his beard slowly, eyeing each of them in turn. "Well, never let it be said that I turned away members of our most beloved Watch in their time of need. Even I cannot procure enough liquor for the lot of you, however, so you'll have to settle for something else. What are your thoughts on hallucinogens?"

 

"Works for me," said Grayson. Thorpe shrugged in resignation. "So long as they wear off by the end of the Feast, of course."

 

"Yes, yes, don't trouble yourself with _that_. Wait here." Sokolov slammed the door in their faces.

 

_"You can't be serious," said a horrified Piero,_

_"Since when have you wanted to play the grand hero?_

_Every talk with Geoff Curnow leaves you blindly enraged,_

_so explain this madness in which you're engaged!"_

_Sokolov stopped with a loud bark of laughter_

_and gestured to his laboratory, way up in the rafters,_

_where he kept his experiments: the test tubes and charts,_

_river krust acid and giant whale hearts;_

_"We both bear a grudge against those useless Watch bastards,_

_and I'm damned if I'll step in and help them plastered._

_No, Piero, a chance like this doesn't come often:_

_we'll have our revenge, and one not soon forgotten!"_

"Do you by any chance recall those mushrooms I showed you? The ones I was growing for Burrows to use on people he wanted interrogated?" Sokolov ushered Piero into his laboratory, waving a hand towards the collection of plants he cultivated, left over from their hunt for a plague cure. The cure had been found, but the plants remained as a reminder of the work it had taken. Or quite possibly because neither man could be bothered to throw them out.

 

Piero followed Sokolov to one of the beds of earth. "Are you referring to the psilocybin variety? Yes, I remember them well. They struck me as a far more humane manner of extracting vital information from people without unnecessary mess. A good idea indeed." He raised his eyebrows as Sokolov pulled out a pair of large leather gloves and donned them. "But you can't honestly mean to-"

 

"I can and I will." He shoved a pile of notes aside and grabbed the hand trowel buried beneath them. "Find me some sort of container, will you? Preferably as airtight as possible. Oh, and try not to breathe for the next few minutes."

 

"Are you _certain_ this is a good idea? Wouldn't you say that it borders on...well, immorality?"

 

Sokolov waved a dismissive hand in Piero's direction. "Immoral? _Hah!_ A good three quarters of the Watch is corrupt and the remainder is made up of cowards and fools. Besides which, exposure to this particular species will do them no lasting harm. I estimate the effects to linger no more than the length of a day, give or take a few hours. _Estimate_ only, because unfortunately Empress Kaldwin remains deaf to my pleas with regards to new subjects for my- our experiments. Most disappointing. And anyway, they agreed."

 

"So you plan to dose the Watch with your experimental fungi and observe its effects? Granted, the pool of subjects would be extensive, and thorough testing is always important...but Anton, you do realise this could cause considerable problems for the city? I don't cherish the thought of having to explain to Corvo why we thought it would be a good idea-" Sokolov took the hinged metal box he proffered, balancing it on the lip of the mushroom bed.

 

"Why should we have to explain anything?"

 

"Well, if he _asks_ if we had anything to do with the sudden spread of induced hallucinations among the Watch, given that none of them could have accessed an appropriate substance without help..."

 

"Piero, my most esteemed colleague." Sokolov fumbled with the buttons of his coat, doing them up as far as they would go and adjusting the collar over his mouth and nose. Voice muffled, he continued, "I have the utmost respect for your mental faculties, but sometimes you really are quite thoughtless. If he asks us, we _lie_. A small price to pay for the advancement of natural philosophy."

 

Piero made no move to help with the transfer of mushrooms to crate aside from fetching Sokolov a scarf to further shield him from inhaling anything unfortunate. Otherwise he sat at a safe distance and watched in glum silence until Sokolov slammed the lid down with a satisfied, _hah!_

 

"I suppose it falls to us to make sure they don't cause too much trouble," Piero said at last. He stood and went over to one of the various desks scattered around the room, digging up several notebooks from the masses of paper, audiograph recordings, and suspicious substances spread out all over it. "And of course to observe the subjects and record our findings, which I imagine the Academy will be very interested in seeing. Do you think we'll have to follow them around for the whole day?"

 

Sokolov tucked the crate under one arm, gesturing for Piero to open the door. "Yes, of course. Unless you had other plans for the Fugue Feast?"

 

"You mean aside from morally questionable scientific exploration? No, I suppose not. Carry on."

 

Together, they returned to the waiting Watch.

 

_Ladies and gentlemen, readers one and all,_

_now comes the strange twist in this tale of Dunwall:_

_deprived of their whiskey, cigars locked away,_

_the Guardsmen were desperate to save Fugue Feast day_

_and despite their instinctive and rational disgust,_

_in Natural Philosophy they did put their trust;_

_a crate of small mushrooms, shared out on the sly,_

_soon had its effect, left them all feeling spry;_

_And out from the barracks the Guardsmen all came_

_in search of a gamble or Golden Cat dame,_

_a feast of blood sausage or Tyvian pear_

_or a naked folk dance at their bless'd Holger Square_

_Glitter and flowers rained down like a blizzard,_

_'Til a Guardsman said, "Here, did you see that pink lizard?"_

"Look, there it is, on the wall!" Simmons said, waving a hand towards the Office of the High Overseer. "Wait, now it's turned an odd shade of puce. Should it be doing that, do you think? Thorpe? Thorpe, do you know anything about- oh, now it's gone."

 

"Tomatoes," said Blossom from somewhere behind him. Frowning, the other man tried again. " _Tomatoes_. To- ma-toes. It's red, the word is _red_ , I can see it when I say it! _Tomatoes_. There, it happened again!"

 

Madness reigned in Holger Square while the statue of High Overseer Holger frowned down at them from on high. Guardsmen stumbled about, sat in uneven circles or sprawled on their backs to look up at the stars; none seemed entirely present in the real world. There was laughter from most and panic from several (quickly comforted by their more jovial companions). Scattered among them was the occasional red military uniform; several Watch members had shared their good fortune with friends.

 

Grayson was waving his arms in a gesture vaguely reminiscent of swimming, making odd gurgling noises and occasionally stopping people to tell them he was, in fact, a whale. Thorpe lay on the stone ground and stared unblinkingly up at the sky. He could be heard muttering, very faintly, "So many of them, and how sweetly they sing...they are each one of us, and we in turn are as they are..."

 

Sokolov stepped carefully over him, clipboard in hand. "I'll mark that down as another spiritual epiphany, shall I? How goes your count?"

 

"Um," Piero said. "In the Square alone, thirty noted instances of synaesthesia, thirteen people too emotionally overcome to do anything but weep incoherently, forty two experiencing hallucinations, roughly half of whom believe they are sea creatures of various kinds...Anton, do you really need me to go through them all or can it wait until we return to Kaldwin's Bridge?"

 

"Oh, very well," Sokolov said distractedly. "It is Fugue Feast after all, I suppose we can be forgiven a measure of relaxation. Excuse me a moment, I must question this soldier. What a shame it would be to mark him down as having an out-of-body experience when really all he's trying to do is count lurid green gulls."

 

"A shame indeed," Piero agreed, before turning to a Guardsman seated nearby. "And what about you, officer? Who or what are you in this particular moment?" The man stared at him blankly for a long moment before asking, very seriously, if Piero would be interested in marrying him.

 

To call the Feast a disaster would not have been entirely true; the two natural philosophers moved among their subjects very happily indeed, and there was not a complaint to be heard from any of _them_. The fires burned bright and hot in the Dunwall fog, and the lanterns swayed like dancers in the breeze. There was music in the air: laughter, song, gunshots, and the faint _crash_ of windows smashing amidst acts of festive larceny.

 

The Watch was on strike, and all was well.

 

_So we come to the end of our tale_

_and now its ending to you I unveil:_

_deprived of their luxuries, the Watch went on strike_

_to ensure the superiors all felt their dislike;_

_Guardsmen were joyful, dispelling the gloom_

_and all thanks to Sokolov's magic mushrooms;_

_The lizards were pink, the twitchy rats yellow,_

_"I'm the king of the world!" someone said at a bellow,_

_seated on top of old Holger's stone head,_

_"And to the Outsider I'll soon get myself wed!"_

_Nonsensical laughter and grins of delight:_

_Thus did the Guardsmen spend their Fugue Feast night;_

_(While the Overseers drank and the Watch all tripped balls,_

_Slackjaw counted his loot and said: "Boys- deck the halls!")_


End file.
